


The Eye of Fate

by DarrkeThoughts



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix-It of Sorts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-08-14 13:51:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16493816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarrkeThoughts/pseuds/DarrkeThoughts
Summary: Tyrion finds a copy of 'Game of Thrones' around the time of Jon Arryn's death. Will he read it? Believe it? Try to change things?





	The Eye of Fate

Tyrion groaned. His head ached just as it should after a night of excessive drinking, but it was his back that caused him to remain in place. There had been some pretty faced young girl, a camp follower he hoped. She was gone now, but it felt as if she may have left a shoe underneath his lower back.

On second thought, Tyrion did not think she had been wearing shoes.

And then the wagon wheel started to turn.

Tyrion scrambled onto his hands and knees, grabbed the offending object and scurried out from beneath the wagon just as it started to roll away. The caravan was beginning their day's journey. Tyrion flagged down the first teamster smart enough to recognize him as the son of Lord Tywin Lannister and was helped up into a wagon full of cooking supplies.

He needed to pee desperately. The teamster watched him squirm with an amused look for several long minutes before handing him an empty wineskin.

“It's empty,” objected Tyrion.

“Thought you might want to fill it.”

“Fill it?”

“'swat I do when I got to piss in the middle of the march. Good excuse to go make a new one empty each evening, if you know what I mean.”

Tyrion figured it out quickly enough and was glad to relieve his bladder. He never needed an excuse to empty more than just one wineskin in the evening. Tonight he would empty an extra one just for the teamster. A Lannister always pays his debts after all.

When the man handed over half of his breakfast Tyrion considered sharing his evening meal and letting him empty his own extra wineskin as he wolfed down the food.

Once his baser needs were met, Tyrion wiped his hands on his doublet and examined the package. It was small and light, covered in plain paper and tied with twine. It did not look like something a camp follower would have left behind.

When he opened the package it appeared to be a book. It was different than any book he had ever owned. The pages were not made of parchment, but rather some thinner material. Paper, was Tyrion's guess. He had read about the material from YiTi but never seen any himself.

The cover was a thicker version of the same material and illustrated with an ominous demon with a vivid blue eye. 'Game of Thrones' was the title and the author appeared to be one George R.R. Martin. A strange name. Martin might be some derivative of Martell, but what kind of name was George? Certainly not Westrosi. And since when were books written by anyone who didn't prefer Maester to their house name?

The first few pages of the book were filled with strange names and codes that Tyrion could not fathom. New York? Copyright? What kind of word was HBO, YiTish or Dothraki perhaps?

The printing was small and fine. The letters were so precise they could make a septa cry over their perfection. Tyrion had never encountered a Maester with such fine handwriting, and he had read every book at Casterly Rock. In spite of the fine printing, Tyrion got the impression of a cheaply made book. There were no illustrations besides two maps in at the beginning. Clearly maps of Westeros, but simply drawn in black and white.

They had been three days on the road and already Tyrion wished he had stayed at Casterly Rock. Cersei and her children had barely arrived when they got news that Jon Arryn, hand of the king, was dead. His Lord father had demanded Cersei return to King's Landing the next day.

“Your husband will be needing a new hand, you had best help him pick a good one.”

It didn't take a maester to see that Lord Tywin was thinking of himself as a prime example of a good hand. But Cersei never was that bright. She had set in her mind that her twin brother, Jaime, would be the ideal candidate for any open position at court. Almost since the day she married Robert.

Tywin had examined her with that cold stare of his, then turned to his dwarf son.

“You should go as well, Tyrion. Robert seems fond of you, perhaps your voice may be useful as well.”

Tyrion had grinned. “Always glad to help the family, father. Robert is fondest of me when we are drinking and you know how much I love to drink.”

The journey started pleasantly enough. Tyrion was excited to be leaving the Rock. It was the first time in years his father had permitted him to travel. The last time he left home he had come back with a wife, but that had not turned out well. And when he reached manhood and wanted to travel to Essos, his father had made him choose between the Lannister gold and traveling the world. What good was travel without gold? So he had stayed at the Rock and been put in charge of the drains instead. It would be good to get out in the world again.

Cersei's wheelhouse was a giant monstrosity that required 40 draft horses to pull it. There were two levels. The bottom was contained an elaborate sitting room with velvet furnishings and Dornish carpets. There was enough room for a dozen ladies to sit and have tea or practice their stitches. On the second level there were four small sleeping compartments with feather beds and even a small closet with a privy that could be used even while the wheelhouse was in motion.

It was the end of the first day, only after they had made it through Lannisport when Cersei made it clear that Tyrion would not be sleeping in the wheelhouse. In fact, Tyrion was not welcome to ride in the wheelhouse. He would have to find his own accommodations within the column now that they were underway.

That was how he had come to spend the night with a camp follower under one of the wagons. He had sent a messenger back to Casterly Rock to get his own horse. He used a special saddle and a uniquely trained horse to ride. Any other horse would require that he be tied onto the saddle to prevent falling off should his short legs cramp suddenly while riding. Until the messenger returned he rode with the baggage train well behind the wheelhouse.

Tyrion took another look at the strange book. 'The Game of Thrones'. His sister imagined herself quite a player of that particular game. When the column stopped for the midday meal, Tyrion found her in the wheelhouse and inquired if she had ever heard of such a book, or if in fact she was missing a book?

“I don't waste my time reading about the game, little brother. I'm too busy winning it.”

Myrcella and Tommen were running about the sitting room and knocked over one of the tables that held a tray of cakes. Cersei looked at the mess with disgust.

“They have too much energy to be cooped up in this wheelhouse all day.”

“They could ride with me if you prefer,” Tyrion offered.

“In the baggage train?”

“Why not? They can run along beside the wagon until they tire. Then they will sleep better when night falls.”

Cersei paused to think.

“It's mine!” Tommen cried, and then there was another crash, this time a tea service spilled. Both children stopped their bickering and looked to their mother with horror on their faces.

“It was an accident.” Myrcella said.

With an annoyed sigh, Cersei shook her head and agreed. “Fine. Let them ride in the baggage train for the day. And send one of the servants in hear to clean up this mess!”

Myrcella and Tommen left the wheelhouse with Tyrion and walked quietly until they were safely out of earshot.

“It was his fault,” began Myrcella.

“Was not! She had my lion,” returned Tommen.

“It's not your lion. It's our lion. I was just playing with it.”

“And now neither of you has the lion.” Tyrion observed. “But as it happens, I have a new book. Perhaps you would like a story?”

Both children brightened at the suggestion.

“What kind of story?” asked Myrcella.

Tyrion knew Myrcella liked stories about knights saving princesses. Tommen liked any stories about knights and animals.

“I'm not sure. It's a new book and I have not read it yet. It's called 'A Game of Thrones', I suspect it must be about court politics of some kind.

“Would their be a princess?” asked Myrcella.

“And a menagerie?” asked Tommen.

“There is only one way to find out.”

And with that the three smallest Lannisters found a comfortable spot in a wagon full of grain and sat down to read.

Tyrion showed the children the maps at the front of the book and pointed out where they were on the Goldroad.

“How long will it take to get to King's Landing?” asked Myrcella.

“How long did it take you to get to Casterly Rock?”

“A long time,” pouted Tommen.

“Then it will take just as long to get back to King's Landing then.” Tyrion pointed out.

With that settled, Tyrion began to read.

“We should start back,” Gared urged as the woods began to grow dark around them.

“Who is Gared?” Tommen asks.

“Shh!” Hisses Myrcella.

“I don't know yet. I've never read this book before. Why don't we read on and find out?” Tyrion smiles at his nephew and winks at his niece.

“The Wildings are dead.”

“Oh, wildings!” whispers Myrcella, wiggling with excitement.

It's a good story to read on a trip north Tyrion thinks as he continues. Three men from the night's watch are on a ranging north of the wall, hunting wildings. Tyrion adjusts his tone to that of a ghost story to entertain the children.

“My wet nurse said the same thing, Will,” Royce replied. “Never believe anything you hear at a woman's tit.”

Myrcella gasps and turns red while Tommen bursts out laughing.

“Sorry, the story seems to be from a commoner's viewpoint. Do me a favor and don't tell your mother?”

The children agree and Tyrion continues making as much as he can from the bits about the fear and unease Will feels as night falls. He doesn't normally read fiction, but the children seem to enjoy the story even more than a good history.

“It is hard to take orders from a man you laughed at in your cups,” Tyrion read, just as they were interrupted by a commotion nearby. Joffery was ordering some guards to stand aside so he could shoot at some small game in a nearby bush.

Will, the poacher, was an unusual viewpoint for a story. But he couldn't help but believe that it might do the children some good to think about how commoners viewed nobles. Joffery would certainly benefit from the lessons here if he was inclined to listen. Instead he chased off the game that might have been their supper.

Tyrion returned to the story, reading to Tommen and Myrcella how the lordling, a Royce, demanded the more experienced Will and Gared continue to investigate the camp with the dead wildings, even though they felt it would be wiser to return to the wall.

The two children huddled close as he described the camp of dead wildings and what it was like to freeze to death, and the injuries Gared suffered from frostbite.

“Will it be that cold in Winterfell?” Myrcella asked.

“Not now, not in summer,” Tyrion reassured her, “although I've heard it sometimes snows, even in summer if you go far enough north.”

“What's snow?” asked Tommen.

“Small particles of ice that fall from the sky like raindrops. It can be quite beautiful as long as you have a nice warm fire handy.”

Tyrion continues to read as Royce points out that it is too warm for anyone to freeze to death, and commands their group to continue forward and argue about whether or not to light a fire.

Tyrion pauses, not wanting the lessons to be lost on his niece and nephew.

“What would you do? Would you follow orders or light a fire?”

The two are clearly puzzled by the question, looking at each other for some hint or clue. Finally, Tommen ventures a guess, “Follow orders?”

“If it was Joffery who asked it of you?” Tyrion inquires.

“Follow orders.” Myrcella says, more confident now.

“And if you were the one giving the orders? Would you let Gared build his fire or not?”

Again the children seem confused by the question. Tyrion let them think it over. These were just the kind of lessons they would find the most beneficial if they were ever in command. Tommen especially might need to know when to listen to his men some day.

It was Myrcella who answered first though. “It seems like the men have a lot of experience. Maybe their commander should listen to their advice.”

“I think you are right. It never hurts to listen, to at least ask for more information before you make a decision. I suspect Royce may regret not having a fire before this chapter is done.”

Tyrion continues reading. The dead men were gone, and without their weapons. Perhaps he should have read the book first before offering to read it to the children. They were still very young, 8 and 6. Their mother would probably not approve.

“I could stop before this gets any worse.”

“No!” Myrcella and Tommen cried at once.

Well, too late to avoid any nightmares now. Thought Tyrion. At least it was still early in the day, plenty of time to shake off a scary tale before they had to sleep again.

That is when the Others appeared. Will hiding up a tree while they slaughtered his commander. When Royce called out “For Robert” the children cheered. But when he died anyway they were quiet and thoughtful.

“Wasn't that treason?” asked Myrcella.

“If Royce had been a king perhaps it would have been. Do you think that Will could have saved him?”

“No.” whispered Myrcella, and Tommen shook his head.

“Then perhaps it was the smart thing to do. At least he is still alive.”

Tyrion finished the chapter then. It turned out that Will didn't live much longer. Royce came back to life, a blue-eyed wight, and strangled Will. So much for being smart enough to stay alive. Tyrion hoped he would be able to shake off the story before he had to sleep again.

When he looked up from the book things got worse. Cersei was watching them.

“What have you been reading to my children?” she demanded.

“Just a little ghost story.” Tyrion suggested, chuckling.

“You evil little monster! Who will be up all night to calm them when they have nightmares? Come along, children, leave your uncle to his books and forget all that nonsense about wights and others. Those are just crib tales the Northerners tell their children to make them behave.”

The children reluctantly left Tyrion's side to attend their mother. Myrcella glanced back as they left, giving him an encouraging smile.

Tyrion shook his head and set the book aside. It was quite thick. Gared must have escaped the ambush and made it back to the wall. For now though Tyrion thought wine might be preferable to more reading. And then something more edifying like 'The History of Archmaester Gyldayn', which was the only book Tyrion had time to pack.

It wouldn't do to let the children see him unnerved by a crib tale. Not to mention Cersei.


End file.
